


Maybe I Might Love You (You're My Hero)

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes Is Here To Provide Said Hugs, Bucky is a fish, Chapters are going to be really short btw but I'll post them often I hope, Everyone is Dead, Fish fic, I Tried, Inspired by Ponyo (2008), M/M, Ocean, Reincarnation, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because ponyo, or are they, they're all so smol, they're baby, wink wink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Abraham Wilson disappeared at sea three years ago.Sarah Rogers went missing two year ago.Bucky Barnes drowned three years ago.The ocean swallows people whole, the town realizes. None of them have ever been seen again. Except Bucky, who was taken by the sea, chewed up and spat back out for young Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson to find.They have never been the same.But when the ocean returns Bucky to Sam and Steve once more, this time alive and well, there suddenly seems to be hope to get everyone else back. If he's alive and well, everyone else must be too, right?(This fic is dedicated to chloesimagination and falconandwintersoldiertv on instagram. Chloe, Tamya, Lauren, y'all are actually amazing and make me so happy to be a part of this fandom. Here's your ponyo au. Enjoy!)





	1. Red Fish, Ocean Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is way too short for my taste, I'll probably make future chapter longer I hope?
> 
> Anywho here's my shameless self-indulgence. I mean, a ponyo au? really?
> 
> Sue me. I don't care.
> 
> Trigger warning for graphic yet probably wildly inaccurate descriptions of a dead body.

Waves broke against the rock edges, spraying white foam into the dark night sky, before raining down on the beach once more, soothing the burning sand from the scorn of the now absent sun. The moon stared down overhead, watching as a young boy walked along the short lapping waves, kicking the water as it met his feet. 

The young boy’s name was Sam Wilson. Sam had turned 12 three days ago and he didn’t want to be home right now. Home felt like the empty shell of a carved out heart. It contained the ghosts of too many words left unsaid. 

He walked the beach, letting his toes drag in the sand, and his face be caressed by the sharp oceanside wind. 

\---

“Sam! Sam!” called out a voice, breaking the silence of night. Sam opened his eyes, lifting his head from the sand, lazily opening one eye. He could see the harsh glare of a flashlight being dragged across the beach. He didn’t remember when he had lay down and let the waves lull him to sleep, but he must have at some point. It would be a real bother to get all the sand out of his hair. He lay back down, wondering silently if he looked like a dead body.

“Sam!” The voice called, getting more frantic, just as the flashlight pushed through the barrier of Sam’s eyelids. He had been spotted. “Sam! Get up!”

Sam opened his eyes, meeting Steve’s blue eyes reflecting the soft light of the flashlight back at him, scared. Sam smiled sadly. 

Steve sighed with relief. “Don’t do that! I thought… I…” The older boy didn’t finish, sniffing and looking off to the side, keeping the flashlight pointed down to mask whatever emotions were passing through his eyes. “C’mon. We’re going home.”

“Sorry…” Sam said deadpan. He was lying. 

Steve was 15, and while he had his own home, he spent most of his time at Sam’s. It worked out for the both of them, since Sam’s house usually felt empty, and Steve’s house really was. 

It also meant Steve had taken the role of Sam’s big brother, even though Sam didn’t want him to. It’s not that Steve was a bad friend, per se, but he wasn’t really cut out for the role of ‘responsible older brother’.

He was a terrible influence, for one.

Sam pushed himself up and off the sand, cringing as he felt his ocean-soaked clothes cling to his skin. 

“Please don’t do that again. What if the tide had risen? What would have happened to you then?”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look that he knew Steve couldn’t see, but knew was there all the same. “It’s not like I thr--”

“Don’t.”

There was a painful silence the rest of the way home. 

\---

The same young boy walked the beach three months later, sun beating down on his back. He angrily kicked the waves as they approached met his skin. The waves didn’t kick back. He kicked harder. 

The ocean was friendly, waves smiling brightly at Sam. Sam scowled back. 

The tide outside was calm today. The sun was bright and the seagulls hollered their glee into the salty air. 

The tide inside of Sam’s heart crashed angrily against his ribs. There was a gaping darkness opening up in his soul. The bright sun outside made the inky black anger seem darker than it did at night.

Sam glared out at the waves, wishing they would go away. Wishing the ocean would dry up. Wishing the blue would recede, exposing barren, dry sand. 

Something bright red caught his eye as he watched the water in hatred. Sam’s eyes widened. 

The red spot moved. It swam. 

Sam glared at it curiously, and his legs started taking him closer to investigate.

With every inch he stepped into the ocean, the cold ocean waves ebbed away the ink in his soul. The waves crashed against his skin and washed it away.

The sea floor got deep quickly. Soon the waves were up to his shoulders, and he was still no closer to the crimson fish. 

The waves started to grow, and soon Sam’s head was being pushed underwater. He could see the fish clearly now, every time he came back up, sputtering water out. 

It was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, gorgeous red scales reflecting the sunlight’s golden tones. The fish swam closer, seemingly circling around Sam. Sam smiled brightly, feeling the weight of so many nights he cried out, angry at the sea, and all the pent up anger he kept inside, wash away. 

“SAM!” cried out the familiar voice of Steve, cutting through the moment of happiness, violently jarring Sam back into reality. 

Sam’s head bobbed under the water for a second, but he pushed himself back up and looked around. Steve was running down the hill’s steep side, down to the beach. He looked scared. Sam’s stomach dropped.

He looked back towards the fish. It was gone. The waves were growing bigger. Each second that passed, it became harder and harder to keep his head afloat. 

Sam paddled frantically towards the shore. Steve ran against the waves, but was pushed back by the onslaught of water shoving him back to shore. 

“Steve!” He called out, “Help!” 

Then his head went under, he tried to push himself up, but the water shoved him down, seemingly gripping him around the neck and shoulders, holding him down under the water. 

His lungs burned. He screamed. Air rushed out of his lungs and was replaced by stinging water, clawing at his lungs. 

The last thing he saw was a red flash, and then everything went dark.

\---

Steve was failing Sam. He would be the first to admit, if anyone asked. He would say he was doing a terrible job of being there and helping, and he needed to step it up. 

Today, Sam drowned. 

All Steve could see was Bucky, clawing frantically at the water in front of him as the life left his eyes. He could see his bloated face when they found him on the beach a week later. His lips had been icy blue, and the blush was gone from his face, never to be seen again.

Steve had loved Bucky. He was nothing short of his best friend, and he considered him his brother. The sight of his lifeless corpse had gutted him. His soul was lost at sea, just like the life of his best friend.

His eyes, once ocean blue and bright, were now clouded over with the foggy breath of the dead.

Sam had been there with him. He also witnessed the chilling sight of Bucky’s dead body strewn across the sand. Sam didn’t know Bucky at the time, and he had only met Steve the day before, but it changed him too. No one could be the same after that.

Steve shuddered, but pulled himself back into the moment. He was at Sam’s house. Sam was wrapped in a thick blanket on the couch, chest rising and falling slowly. 

Steve didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there in time. He stared sadly at Sam. 

He had made it to Sam just as his struggling seemed to stop. He had grabbed him by the shirt, struggling to hold on to him. The weight of the other boy had begun to drag him under. Both Steve and Sam would have ended up doing as Bucky had, insides shredded by the merciless ocean salt. Skin turned to thick, grey, bloated blubber. Lips turned pale blue. 

Steve covered his face with his hands, crying silently into his own palms. He had been the one to pull Sam out of the water, barely managing to keep his own head in the air. He had been the one to drag Sam’s limp body up the hill, sobbing every time he tripped and they both fell back down. He had been the one to push the water out of his chest and make sure he was breathing again.

He prayed he wouldn’t have to pull anyone else out of the water again.


	2. Bucket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me publishing this sucker at 2 am because I don't sleep
> 
> trigger warning for some brief suicidal ideation in this chapter. 
> 
> And graphic, yet probably wildly inaccurate descriptions of a dead body.

A red fish stayed by the shore, worry gripping him tightly as he watched the older, paler boy drag the younger boy out of the water.

The fish could see the sky from here, this close to the air. Thick clouds had rolled in just as quickly as the boy had waded into the ocean waves. It was the ocean ripping away the boy’s anger and claiming it for his own.

The fish couldn’t understand why he was drawn to this beach. He couldn’t understand why the sight of the older boy made him squirm. He couldn’t begin to explain the feeling he had when he swam with the younger boy.

It was liquid sunshine, running through his gills, as he circled him.

Sam. That was what the older boy had called him.

The fish knew he should go back home, to his siblings, but he couldn’t stand not knowing whether that boy was okay or not.

The ocean waves continued to rise, crashing violently against the rocks. The fish squirmed against the pull of the current, seeming to drag him back out to sea.

The fish jumped, a frantic leap forward. A sporadic jump towards land, towards certain death.

\---

When Sam woke up, he was wrapped in a warm, soft, fluffy blanket, laying on the couch. He pushed himself up, feeling weak. He looked up, gazing lazily out the window. The sun was starting to go down, painting both the clouds and the ocean below brilliant shades of crimson and pink.

Sam looked down, unsure what the swimming feelings in his stomach were. He looked to the side, Steve had fallen asleep on the floor, leaning against the couch. His eyes looked puffy and red, even through closed eyelids. His head rested against his own shoulder in a position that looked anything but comfortable. 

Sam kicked the blanket off of him, moving over to stare out the window. Where had that fish gone? 

He looked back at Steve, making sure he was asleep, then made his escape, sneaking out the back door of the house before running back down to the beach. His feet were fast, and he sped down to the beach, looking out to the sea. The waves rolled themselves into tight fists, gripping the edge of the beach threateningly. 

The fish was gone. Sam watched the waves, hoping to see a single glimmer of red. The horizon, where the sea melted into the sky, taunted him. 

There was nothing here for him to find.

His feet dragged behind him as he walked back to his house. In his chest was a gaping hole. Where once was darkness and anger was something else. A void. Something was missing. 

Sam ignored the feeling as he pushed himself up the hill, step by step, until he reached his house. 

The house was a small place. It was two floors, with the kitchen and living room on the first floor, and two bedrooms, Sam’s and his mother’s and a bathroom on the second. There was a small balcony on the outside of his mother’s room that overlooked the sea. 

There was a glass sliding door on the downstairs floor, which Sam’s dad used to complain did nothing but let in all the sand when Sam and his mom came back from the beach.

“It’s such a bother to clean it all up all the time,” He would say. “Why don’t you and your mother run outside and rinse your feet before entering the house, huh?”

About a month after the ocean swallowed him, Sam stopped rinsing his feet before entering the house. The sand had built up in the house. He would brush it to the side, and pretend the grime and sand building up in the corners of the house didn’t bother him.

Sam’s mother never rinsed her feet anymore either, but she didn’t go down to the ocean anymore anyway.

“I never want to see it again.” She had said once. She had to see it every day, however, when she left to go to work. She worked three jobs now to pay the rent. Sam can’t remember the last time he saw her smile. She never stayed home for more than an afternoon every week.

Sam pushed open the sliding door and went back into the house, crashing back onto the couch, letting exhaustion carry him back to a dreamless sleep.

\---

Three days passed since Sam’s encounter with the fish. Steve and Sam danced around the subject, careful to avoid the subject. They went along their days, ignoring the presence of it.

Steve worked on summer homework, sitting in the corner, pouring over books and notes. Sam avoided the ocean, walking through the town, watching familiar faces walk through the sunlit mist.

It was a small town, surrounded by the sea. The town had a wide array of small businesses. There was the florist and his roses, in the small wooden building, lilac paint peeling off to reveal spots of copper wood. There was the fish shop, selling the most recent catch of the fishermen, with it’s doors always open, rain or shine, so to let fresh air in and not stink up the place. There was the school, which was closed for the summer, and taught kids of all ages. 

There was a silence in the town. No one talked to anyone anymore. It would be such a tragedy to make a friend, only to have them swallowed by the sea in the next week. 

The town had lost many, both to the cruel jaws of the tide and to misery. Families had up and gone. The whole town grieved, all the while living in constant fear that they or a loved one would be next.

Sam’s friend Scott had moved away with the rest of his family last year. They couldn’t stand to be in the gloomy atmosphere of the town. Sam didn’t cry then. He had gotten used to losing friends like that. 

The first to be lost was a young boy with silver hair. Sam had seen him a few times when he was younger, as was to be expected in a town as small as this one, but they had never really spoken. 

Sam, who had been nine at the time, had watched the grief engulf the boy’s family from a distance, watching as their faces showed up less and less often in town. He watched as the boy’s sister had started wearing long sleeved sweaters no matter what the temperature outside was. He watched, and he pitied them.

Sam watched as others were lost. He didn’t think much of it, accidents happen, after all.

Around that same time, he met Steve. Steve was twelve at the time, and he spent all his time with a boy of the same age with brilliant blue eyes and dark hair that although short, always seemed messy and windblown.

Sam had only talked to that boy once, when Sam was too busy staring at him to watch where he was going, and tripped on a rock.

“Hey, you okay?” the boy had asked, crouching down to Sam’s level, which was, for the moment, flat against the gravel road.

“I-- uh--” Sam had stuttered. His heart had never beat as fast as it had then. His face had never felt so hot and flushed. 

The boy reached out with his hand. Sam took it, and was pulled up. 

“Watch where you’re going next time,” the boy had said, smiling. He was as bright as sunshine. 

That night Sam had been unable to sleep, kept awake by the replaying memory of the first crush he had ever had, hugging his pillow tight against his chest. 

Sam approached Steve on the beach the next day. It was the first time Sam had seen him without the other boy. They talked, and played some soccer with a worn volleyball, using broken branches as the edges of the goals.

Every day for a week they met on the beach after school, and played soccer until they couldn’t breathe, and then they would walk along the beach.

On the seventh day of this routine, Sam spotted something floating in the water, being thrown around by the waves. He told Steve to stop, and look. 

Steve had recognized it for what it was. A person. He had dived in without any hint of hesitation or fear, and dragged him out. 

Dead. He was dead.

Only when Steve had pulled the body out of the water, frantically pushing against the boy’s chest, as if it would do anything to revive him, did Sam learn the name of the boy he had begun to fall for.

“Bucky…” 

Sam had never heard anyone sound as broken as Steve had sounded in that moment, tears streaming down his face as he cradled the stiff body of his best friend.

Sam wanted to run. Bucky had been dead for a while, and anyone could see it if they looked. His skin was no longer rosy tan, instead turned icy blue, and his eyes were clouded glass. His chest had caved in, as if his ribs had given up on him.  
His arm had been ripped off. It wasn’t clean, either. His entire shoulder consisted of mangled flesh that flapped in the wind like a torn flag at half mast.

Sam had thrown up, his insides wanting to rid themselves of this sight. Wanting to expel the sickness that had wormed its way into his chest.

Sam’s dad went missing a month later. Sam already knew he wouldn’t get him back. Darlene, Sam’s mother, held on hope for a while. She kept setting his plate at the table. She kept leaving the lights on “in case he comes home. That was he can see the house and won’t get lost.”

The most beautiful boy in the world’s now colorless face, regurgitated by the sea, haunted his dreams. 

Soon, Sam’s own father started joining him on the cold, wet sand, and Sam realized the world wasn’t kind anymore.

\---

The fish thrashed frantically against the rocks. It had been there, stuck, for days. The water among the rocks was deep enough to keep him breathing, but not deep enough for him to swim back to see. 

He watched the sky from under the water, clouds rolled in, darkening the sky. The fish stilled, nervous, as the water started reaching up, restless and aggressive. The rising water could push him into the sharp bladed rocks, spelling out his death. 

The fish poked its head out of the water, circling around, looking for an option of escape. He could only see the vast expanse of rocks all around him, trapping him against the air. 

The waves were getting bigger, and the fish dreaded getting caught in it. 

Someplace deep in his memory provided an image of being smashed against rocks by the waves, being torn up until the water choked him from the inside out.

The fish shook the image away, and stared bravely at the challenge in front of him. He had to jump over the rocks and back to sea. No problem. He could do this. 

He could do this.

With a flick of his tail, the fish propelled himself out of the water. He became a flame, cutting the angry greys and dark blues with brilliant crimson and gold, if only for a second, before breaking against the water once more.

The moment he touched the ocean water again, a wave rolled in, pushing him back into the rocks. The rocks scraped against his side. The fish curled in pain. He flopped against the rock, only a little bit of water there to ease his burning gills. He gasped, desperate, scared.

He tried to move his left fin. It was completely shredded. His left side had a deep gash in it that was quickly letting out his blood, only to be swept away by the sea. 

The fish wanted to scream, cry, but just a fish cannot do these things. He would have cried out, cursed the ocean, were it not his home. He would have hugged his legs, curling into himself, if he could.

None of these things were possible, and the fish could do naught but lay there gasping. Dying.

Again.

\---

Sam walked home along the beach, watching the sky grow dark for what seemed to be the millionth time this week. The wind picked up speed, a pleasant walking companion at first, becoming snapping jaws that kept him walking faster.

It was easier to walk home along the beach. There were less people trying to race home before the storm hit. It was a risk. The tide could rise and swallow him like it had the others, but something in Sam told him he wouldn’t be missed.

Steve would be sad, at first, but he would adjust. He made friends easy, and Sam didn’t really imagine he would be very hard to replace. 

His mother wasn’t home most of the time anyway, it’s not like his death would change life for her much.

Sam kept his eyes on the breaking of the waves, unsure what he was looking for. It wasn’t like the ocean had anything to show him.

Then he spotted a spot of red thrashing on the rocks. He froze. Sam watched the fish squirm against the rocks, the red of his scales draining out and spilling into the water. The blood coated the rocks in a thin layer of liquid garnet. 

He looked around frantically as the fish lay there, dying. The wind was violently pushing his legs out from under him. Trash and papers were dragged by the wind, scraping the air and sand, leaving scars in their wake. 

Sam spotted a bucket among the rubble. A worn, steel bucket, with a peeling sticker of a red star on it, thrashing against the wind as it desperately clung onto a bush for dear life. 

The wind fought back as Sam shoved his way to the bucket. His feet dragged violently against the sand as for every two steps forward, he was pushed two steps back. 

He managed to grab the bucket, which was a lot heavier than it looked, and drag it with him to the rocky water, where the fish lay gasping, no longer fighting. 

Sam carefully placed his feet on the flippery rocks, a vain attempt to find a stable foot stance on the slippery rocks. The wind shoved back against him still, with no regard for his precarious situation.

He took one shaky step forward, and the wind shoved him to the side. Sam's grounded foot slipped from the rock, his other foot landed violently on a sharp rock. The sharp edge stabbed into his foot like a knife, carving into his flesh. 

Sam screamed in pain. The rock cut him, but not deep enough to tear throuhg his thick callouses. Sam winced but kept going forward, taking another step forward, towards the fish, which had now gone completely still.

"No. No… no no no no" muttered Sam, as he pushed the bucket into the water to fill it back up. It instantly became heavier, pulling his arms down. 

Sam carefully placed the bucket on the rocks, careful to find a spot it wouldn't spill over.

He reached out and picked up the fish carefully, the fish flopped limp in his hands, there was no indication that it was still alive.

Sam felt tears push against his eyes, the salt indistinguishable from the salt of the sea. He put the fish into the bucket still, praying whispers that the crimson fish remained alive.

The waves were now towering over Sam's head beyond the rocks, threatening to reach over the the rocks and slam him down. Sam gripped the bucket close to his chest and ran back toward the beach, feet digging into the rocks. 

The water reached over him, pushing down into the rocks. Sam let go of the bucket , reaching forward. His hands scraped the side of a rock, edge digging into his skin and tearing open the palm of his right hand. 

Blood spilled onto the rocks. The water rose and washed it washed it away, eliminating all evidence of it's assault on the your boy with the bucket.

Sam winced. His breath was shaky from fear and pain. He grabbed the bucket quickly, pulling it towards him. More than half the water was gone, but the fish remained in the bucket, completely still. 

Sam picked it up and kept running, ignoring the stabbing pain in both his feet and his arms. He made it to the beach and stopped, looking back at the sea. The vengeful waves glared back at him with dark hatred. The sky was dark overhead, clouds curling with rage.

The wind pushed him back every leap he took. A dark chill settled deep into his bones. He ran all the way home, and pushed open the sliding glass door. He stepped inside, pushing the door closed with his elbow, and running to the kitchen sink. He carefully placed the bucket under the faucet, and turned the tap on, letting the water fill.

He reached into the bucket with his hurt hand, nudging the fish softly, muttering prayers under his breath. 

“Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please please please.”

The fish moved, only a little, turning to face Sam’s hand, nibbling on it affectionately. 

Sam smiled, sniffing with relief. “You’re--- you’re alive. Oh thank goodness.”

His breath hitched. Tears pushed against the back of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened it the ocean had taken him then. 

The fish, seemingly unsatisfied with Sam’s sadness, pushed his head up to the surface of the water, pushing water out of his mouth in a thin stream and right onto Sam’s face.

Sam put up his hands defensively, catching most of the water. “Hey! No!” He turned his hands over to wipe the water on his shirt, and his eyes went wide. “I-- what?”

He looked down at the fish, then back at his palm. His hand had completely healed. There wasn’t even a scar to evidence the wound that was once there.

He looked back at the fish, which was swimming in circles in the bucket. It’s wound had completely healed. It’s fin was still shredded, but it didn’t look fresh anymore. 

Sam’s mouth formed a line, and he narrowed his eyes. He took the bucket and pulled it closer, peering closely at the fish.

“You have healing powers, huh?” Sam asked the fish. “Pretty badass if you ask me.”

The fish didn’t respond, he simply looked back at Sam, feeling warm in this boy’s presence. The broken smile on his face made his heart ache. He wished he could provide him some comfort. He pushed his face out of the water and splashed him again.

“Hah. You have to stop that, you know? Next thing you know all the water will be on me, not in the bucket with you.” Sam laughed, then he stopped for a second, thinking. “I’m gonna name you Bucket. It’s a cute name.”

The fish splashed him again in agreement.


End file.
